


Before I Wake

by aj_socks



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Turned Into a Ghost, HP: EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-27 20:04:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aj_socks/pseuds/aj_socks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an alternate ending to Deathly Hallows, Draco defects during the last battle and tries to help Harry by finding the diadem horcrux. Instead, he ends up injured and wakes up as a ghost that only Harry can see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before I Wake

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as part of the hd_tropes 2013 fest on Livejournal for Faieance. 
> 
> Thank you Mab for helping me during the writing process and for being my beta. Jad, thanks as well for the beta help. It'd be a mess without you two.

Draco stuck his tongue out at the Bloody Baron as he floated past. He didn’t care if he was being childish. The students couldn’t see him and neither could the older ghost. Invisible to both magical beings and humans alike, Draco roamed the halls of Hogwarts to ease the mundane afterlife he found himself living. 

A young girl walked through him and shivered. She reminded him of Pansy at the beginning of their second year and he began to float through the crowd to look for his friends. He didn’t find them, and released a deep breath and relaxed. 

“Is that Malfoy?”

He recognized that voice quicker than his own name and he turned around to see Harry Potter starring in his direction. Draco frowned and glanced behind himself, but didn’t see what earned Potter’s shocked expression. He stuck his tongue out and faked puking noises. 

“Malfoy? Don’t you remember? He’s still at St Mungos.” Hermione Granger stood next to him holding Weasley’s hand.

“I remember. But are you sure he’s not dead?”

“I hadn’t heard that,” she said. “But it’s possible. Last I heard, the Healers declared him brain dead.”

“Yep, brain dead. Serves the prat right.” Weasley attempted to smirk, but it came out awkward at best and Draco couldn’t stifle a short laugh. He made a mental note to terrorize him and the two volunteers he first heard it from four months ago. 

“Ronald.”

“And you haven’t heard anything about him dying?” Potter’s voice cracked and his eyes followed Draco as he flew around the crowd of students to reach Weasley. 

Draco stopped in front of Weasley but turned his attention to Potter. Their eyes met. Draco abruptly floated back a pace and Potter’s eyes followed him. “Can you see me?”

“I haven’t heard anything. Are you alright, Harry?” Granger could have been looking through a Magnifying Charm by the way she examined him, eyes narrowed and her lips pursed tight.

“He’s dead, mate. Brain dead.”

Draco snarled and waved his hand through Weasley’s nose until he sneezed. “Shut it. What do you know?”

“I need to go to the hospital wing.” 

“Harry, wait.” 

He didn’t. Potter sped down the hall, leaving his friends and Draco behind. His departure fueled the chatter and groups of students pointed at his disappearing figure. Potter happened to be the favourite topic among the volunteers during the summer, and their gossip became Draco’s source of information. According to them, the Golden trio had been at the centre of change in the wizarding world’s government and policies. All change came slow, but from Draco’s limited knowledge, he saw nothing had changed except the party that gained benefits had shifted from the pure-bloods to Muggle-borns and half-bloods. He noted also that not one Slytherin came back to finish school that year. 

Draco screamed through the entire ceremony. He yelled obscenities and tried to push the food off the table. To them, he wasn’t even there. He did not make a difference to anyone. No one looked at him, not the way Potter had. 

The abundance of space at the Slytherin table troubled him. Several students sat alone, a few in small groups, but the entire Slytherin house seemed lackluster compared to Draco’s memories. He sat at the end, or rather he pretended to sit but in truth hovered over the wood, and looked across to Weasley and Granger. It felt like yesterday, that he had come to Hogwarts for the first time. He held out his hand and pretended to touch the third-year student that sat across from him. 

“You made the right choice,” Draco said. The boy looked like Potter in his eyes, but the only real similarity was his dark, messy hair. He snorted and glared at his outstretched hand. How he loathed Harry Potter for daring to reject his hand, but truth be told, he hadn’t been the only person to refuse Draco’s friendship. 

A week hadn’t gone by before Draco, in his first year, held out his hand to a seventh-year student named Harold Yarnal, the son of a woman his father worked with on a regular basis. They’d never met, but Draco considered them allies against Gryffindor and Harry Potter. But when he introduced himself as an equal, the other boy had curled his thin lips in a smirk that Draco found as intimidating as his father’s.

“I know who you are, Malfoy. My mother mentioned you on one occasion.”

Draco pushed his uneasiness back and puffed out his chest in pride. “Did she? My father mentioned you once, as well.” He motioned for Crabbe and Goyle to move closer. They snuck nervous glances at each other but followed Draco’s direction. “These are my friends. You could come --”

“I’d have to be a loon to hang out with a couple of first-years. Especially with those two pigs you’ve got.” He laughed along with two of his friends sitting next to him. “But, I might make an exception if you get something for me.”

“Get something?”

“Draco … I don’t think --”

“Shut it!” Draco took a deep breath. “What do you want? I’m a Malfoy, I can get anything I want.”

Harold’s friend on his left side snickered and whispered something that made his grin grow. “Alright. I need the Sorting Hat. Some of the first-years seem too soft to be in Slytherin so I want to resort them.”

“Can you even do that?” Goyle asked. “I don’t think he can do that, Draco.”

“Don’t think you can get it? I thought a Malfoy could get anything. Don’t tell me that was just a bluff.” He sat back into the couch and smiled. “I guess my mum was right.”

Draco’s cheeks felt hot and he clenched his teeth. “I’ll get you that hat. Just wait. By the end of the week, I’ll resort them myself.”

He hadn’t been able to get the Sorting Hat. Draco sighed. Crabbe and Goyle had stayed up through the night to help him make a fake one. They gathered materials while Draco attempted to sew it together, pricking his fingers enough times to bring tears to his eyes. They never berated him for taking on the challenge. Nor did they complain about lack of sleep -- though the absence of food made Crabbe grumble more than once. Draco smiled. 

“Draco! I asked Pansy for help and she found this. Look, it’s a Puppet Charm. She says that if we practice, we might be able to pull this off.” Crabbe handed him the book and couldn’t stop the massive grin that spread across his face. “It says that we could control and talk through the hat from another room.”

Pansy appeared behind him with her arms crossed over her chest. She shook her head and clicked her tongue. “You got in over your head on this one.”

“Obviously not.”

She snorted. “When would you have found this charm in between complaining about that Potter boy and making that ridiculous hat? Over. Your. Head. Way over it. Now who sounds the most like the Sorting Hat?”

“Me, of course,” Draco said. 

“And you’ll be in two places at once, will you? No, you’ll be the one showing off that you got that hat. Goyle? Crabbe? Either of you want to figure out how to do a year three spell?”

The two boys cast worried glances at each other. Neither were particularly skilled in magic in the first place, and Draco doubted they could pull it off. But they had surprised him. Goyle ended up doing an exceptional Sorting Hat voice and Crabbe managed the spell by the end of the week with Pansy’s help. In the end, it didn’t matter that the older boys figured out their scheme because of a lousy stitching job. 

Draco floated into the Room of Requirement and found the replica Sorting Hat on top of a pile of books. He tried to touch it, but his hand passed through the fabric and despite his attempt to push it from its place, nothing happened. He couldn’t touch anything and the hat remained as it was. 

During his years at Hogwarts, Draco always wanted to ask the ghosts if they could cry or feel pain, but he never did. Now he didn’t need to ask. In his chest, a phantom pressure, not pain, weighed down on him. Draco cried out and frantically pushed at the hat, desperate for it to respond to his touch. He wanted to break down and cry on his mother’s shoulder like he did as a child. But tears didn’t -- couldn’t -- fall down cheeks that didn’t exist.

~~~***~~~

Draco kept out of Potter’s line of sight for the next week, but often followed him out of curiosity. Gossip trailed after him, and the things Draco heard astounded him.

One girl said, “Harry refused a position as an Auror because he wants to finish school with Ginny Weasley.”

“No, I heard Harry Potter’s best friend, that Weasley fellow, was given an Auror position but it was revoked because Potter refused his.”

“I thought that Hermione Granger forced them both to come back to finish school.”

Another asked, “Did you hear? Harry can still talk to snakes! Should we ask him?”

“Don’t ask him anything. I heard he went a little … loony, you know?”

Draco snorted at the last comment. “You people believe the craziest things.” The girls continued on and Draco faked an answer in a high voice, “No, Draco. They’re all true. He really did go --” He stopped and took a step back. Potter stood in front of him, no more than a few inches away.

“Mate, we’ll be late for class.” Weasley came up next to him. “Hermione is already there.”

“I’ll be there in a minute. Go ahead.”

Draco snickered and couldn’t help but smile at the rejected, shocked expression on Weasley’s face before he mumbled a reply and continued to class alone. Potter didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned and walked through Draco to catch up with his friend. It seemed more and more probable that Potter could see him, or at least sort of see him, so Draco followed him to his lessons, and then to lunch and dinner. 

Every so often, he saw a flicker of recognition from Potter, a hint that what Draco wanted and didn’t want to be true, was, in fact, the truth. Potter could see him even if he didn’t want to. Draco smirked. 

Potter had changed since they had seen each other last. His lightning bolt scar had begun to fade since the Dark Lord’s death and the short kid that had refused Draco’s hand had grown into an adult. He still had no sense of style, and Draco snorted at the H sewn on the gaudy red jumper he wore to bed. 

Draco hovered parallel to Potter as he slept and watched his chest rise and fall. Pressure pushed on his chest like a phantom ache that made him feel empty. He touched Potter’s hand during the night but he no longer felt satisfied when goosebumps rose on his skin. He reached out to touch Potter’s cheek but stopped a hair’s breadth away.

“You’re not so bad when you’re asleep,” he said. “Handsome, almost. It’s just when you start talking...” Draco trailed off and pulled his hand away. “When given two choices, why are you always the one that picks the right side? You always win.”

He stopped talking and floated back to the Room of Requirement. Draco closed his eyes and wished ghosts could sleep. In the end he didn’t sleep, rather he became more determined to force Potter to acknowledge him as the seconds passed by in silence.

At breakfast, he sat across from Potter until another Gryffindor student sat on top of him. Draco grumbled and cursed at the student that dared to take his seat. The crowded table offered no empty seats, so Draco grinned and decided to sit on the table. He sat cross-legged and hovered in the middle of Potter’s plate and smirked at him. 

“Just try to ignore me, Potter.”

“Harry, why aren’t you eating?” Granger leaned over. “Is there something wrong with your food?”

“Um, no. Not really.” He stared down at his plate. “I’m just tired.”

“Do you need to go to the infirmary again? I hope you’re not sick.”

“I’m not.” Potter put his fork down next to Draco’s thigh. 

“Look here.” Draco waved his hand in front of Potter’s face. “I need your help. Isn’t that what you do? Helping people, I mean. I told Pansy you had a hero complex. I really think it’s an illness.”

“Is it about Ginny?” Weasley asked, leaning forward to see around Granger. “I bet if you just say you’re sorry, everything will go back to normal.”

“It’s not that.” Potter glanced at him long enough for Draco to see the irritation in his eyes. “Keep your nose in your own bloody business.”

Draco whistled. “Arguing amongst yourselves? One might actually think you’re not so lofty as you believe yourselves to be.”

“Don’t you want to make up with her? I thought you guys would get married and then we’d be a real family.”

“Real family?” Potter clenched his fists and glared at his plate of food. “I already consider you family.”

“Mate, that’s not how I --”

“I know what you meant. And it’s fine.”

“Figures.” Draco smirked and crossed his arms. “All pure-blood families are the same that way, even the Weasleys. Blood is important.”

Potter met Draco’s eyes and pounded his fists against the tabletop. “Shut it!”

The entire hall went quiet. Potter breathed heavily, his eyes on Draco. To others, he appeared to be shouting at his friends, but he glared away from them at nothing. Draco floated back to the other side of the table, but Potter’s eyes never left him.

“I’ll meet you in class,” Potter said. Once he left the hall, a murmur replaced the quiet and Draco overhead the word loony used several times, especially from the younger students. As he left to follow Potter, Draco swatted the head of every person who dared say a word even related to loony.

He found Potter rather quickly, a gift from his years of following him to attempt to play tricks on him, though Draco would be damned before he admitted that most of his nefarious plans never came to fruition. Draco caught up with him just as he reached the lake and, just as Potter began to sit down, Draco appeared in front of him with a grin. Potter yelped and stumbled backwards.

“I knew you could see me.”

“What do you want? Merlin, even when you’re brain dead you find a way to haunt me. Did you put some kind of spell on me so that I’d never be rid of you?” He paused and turned away. “You’re not even dead. How are you a ghost already?”

“No idea. I’ve had some time to think about it, and it’s about the same as being dead.” He pretended to appear nonchalant, but he noticed Potter shift uncomfortably at the mention of death and his expression softened. 

“But you’re not dead?”

“Granger could be wrong. She isn’t always right.”

“You’d lost so much blood. But I brought you out of there alive.”

“You … You’re the one who found me? In the Room of Requirement? How did you know I was there?”

Potter hesitated and looked away. “That isn’t important. After the battle, we went to look for survivors. I found you.”

“Oh. That doesn’t really matter now, does it?” He rubbed his arm. The fabric he’d worn at the time of his death, or brain death, was the only thing he could still feel. It comforted him and he relaxed, running his fingers along the individual stitches in the sleeves. “Point is, no one else can see me. I need you to fix that.”

A gust of wind caused Potter’s robes to flutter around his ankles and press flush against his legs. “Fix it? Um, maybe I could ask Hermione -”

“No. I didn’t ask for the Mudbl-- Er, Granger’s help, did I?”

Potter glared at him. “It’ll take a lot longer without her help. And why should I help you? If it weren’t for your mother, you’d be in Azkaban. Brain dead or not. I certainly wouldn’t have stuck my neck out for you otherwise.”

He rolled his eyes and floated closer to the lake, his back turned to Potter. “I didn’t ask you to do that.” Draco knelt down next to the water. “Truth is, I’d rather no one else know about this. If I had another choice, I wouldn’t ask for your help either.” He touched the water and pretended the movement caused by the wind actually occurred due to his touch. Draco sighed and said, “I can’t stay like this. Potter, please. I don’t want to be a ghost.”

“You want to die?”

“I’d rather not die, but existing like this isn’t exactly living.”

“I’ve seen too much death as it is. I won’t kill you too.”

“Oh, that’s right. People around you drop like flies, don’t they?” He scoffed and continued before Potter had a chance to fight back. “But I’m already dead, you prat. You’ll just be helping me move on or whatever it is that ghosts do.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“There are some perks. I can fly without a broom.” He stood up. “I haven’t been able to get any information about my family and friends. Do you know what happened to them? Are they okay?”

“Your mother is fine. So is Parkinson. I read in the Prophet that your father was attacked by a group of Muggle-borns that wanted the death penalty for all Voldemort supporters.” He looked away and focussed on the pebbles by the shore. “He, um, I’m not sure what happened after that.”

“Tell me.”

“I don’t know.”

“I know when you’re lying. What sort of nemesis would I be if I didn’t?”

Harry snorted. “Nemesis? More like a persistent pain in my arse.”

“Most people don’t almost kill a minor annoyance in the bathroom.” 

Harry flinched, like he had been bitten by a snake. The rocks on the shoreline became interesting to him again, and Draco smiled. He hit a soft spot. Draco took a moment to live in the victory and breathed deeply. His smirk turned into a smile and he breathed out slowly, like his father did after a victorious arrangement or argument. 

The first time Draco copied his father, it had been in front of a business partner they ran into in Knockturn Alley. Once the man left, his father knelt down so he was eye level with his then six-year-old son and said, “Never in front of them, Draco. Doing that gives them time to try again. Real victory comes after everything has finished and you are alone with family.”

But Draco never learned that lesson. 

“Now, tell me,” Draco said. “My father. What happened after he got attacked. Is he still being treated at St Mungo’s? Did he lose a limb? They didn’t disfigure his face, did they?”

“No, Malfoy -- Draco. They -- Um. I don’t think I should be the one who tells you this.”

“Just spit it out, would you? It’s not like he died. My father would never let himself get killed by a bunch of Muggle-borns.” Potter’s gaze dropped and he bit his bottom lip, and when he looked back up at him, Draco felt the pressure return. His voice wavered and he shook his head. “No. No, you’re wrong. My father wouldn’t die like that. He’s -- Don’t look at me like that. I don’t need pity. He’s not dead.”

“Draco. Calm down. Listen to me. He was outnumbered. There were over twenty of them and he didn’t have his wand.”

“Didn’t have his wand? Why? Why wouldn’t my father have his wand? Magic is the only thing we have, Potter. Why take his wand? You left him defenceless!”

“Would you let him have it if you were us? After all he did?”

Draco clenched his teeth. He didn’t want to understand. He wanted to scream and punch him to help rid himself of guilt. If he had been there, if he hadn’t gone back to the Room of Requirement, his father could be alive. Draco swallowed thickly and said, “No. I wouldn't.” He paused and turned back to the lake. “But did you even try to protect him?”

The wind had steadily picked up, and the leaves that blew past them provided the only sound, and even then, the silence between them felt suffocating. Potter’s heavy footsteps stopped behind him, and Draco thought for a moment he wanted to comfort him, but instead he fell into place next to him.

“I’ll help you. You’re right. I didn’t do anything for your father. I should have.”

“Leave.” Draco thought of his mother. She didn’t have any family left except him, and he imagined her sitting alone in the manor with only his father’s portrait to keep her company. Potter began to walk away, but then Draco stopped him. “Wait. You’re sure I’m not dead.”

“That’s right.”

“Figure out how to get me back into my body.”

A dozen possible replies crossed Draco’s mind. They ranged from a cruel laugh to Potter saying, “I’d rather just help you disappear.” Every answer he heard in his mind made the pressure more intense, and Draco prepared himself for the pain the real answer would bring.

“I will, Draco.”

Potter left. Draco stood by the lake in shock and simply stared after him until he disappeared. He cursed. “You’re always like that,” he said aloud. “Always have to be a bloody hero.”

Draco smiled despite himself. Potter had called him Draco. Not Malfoy. Not Draco Malfoy. Not a nickname referencing the ferret incident or his sharp features. Like a friend, Potter called him by his name. How many years had he wanted that?

“I don’t know why you want to be friends with that Potter boy so much,” his father had said during the winter break of Draco’s second year. “He goes against everything our family stands for.”

“I don’t want to be his friend,” Draco said, and he pushed out his bottom lip. “Who’d want to be friends with such an arrogant prat?”

Narcissa laughed. “Perhaps you should ask Crabbe and Goyle the answer to that mystery. I’ve been asking myself the same question ever since I married your father, but haven’t found an answer yet.”

“Are you calling me arrogant?” His father handed her a glass and poured her a small amount of brandy.

“You certainly are not humble.”

“Son, go to your room. I need to talk to your mother.”

Draco frowned at the strange smile his father shot his mother, but took his box of chocolates upstairs to his room. He sat on his bed with a book about a detective cat that solved crimes for wizards in New York and pondered what that smile meant. As he grew older, he saw the same smile on Pansy’s face when she flirted with him, and he tried to forget that incident.

Now, he cherished every moment he could remember of his father.

~~~***~~~

In the two weeks that passed, Potter spent the majority of his time in the library reading about ghosts. So much so that Granger seemed to grow worried about the amount of time he spent “studying” and organized a few Gryffindors to check up on him occasionally. Draco snorted. Crabbe and Goyle would have just followed him there, and if he told them to go away as Potter had, then they would have done just that.

“My friends are just as good as your friends,” Draco said after he floated into the library. “In fact, they leave me alone when I tell them to.”

“I didn’t say they were bad friends.”

Draco felt his cheeks grow cooler, and he imagined that they might be brighter in color than the rest of his transparent body. “Did you find anything yet?”

“There are a couple records about people who are declared brain dead waking up, but none of them remember anything. There is no proof they were ever ghosts.”

“What use is that, then?”

Potter shot him a glare. “In one, a girl claimed she saw her friend’s ghost. It doesn’t say much more than that. Just that she helped him. No one believed her because, like you, no one else could see him. And worse, he lost his memory too. It’s barely even noted here.”

“Great. So it’s bloody useless.”

“Look, Malfoy. I’m trying my best here. And now I’m late for potions. Leave me alone so I can think.”

Draco snickered. He rarely listened to his parents and it amused Draco that Potter believed that he’d follow his directions. So, he followed him and hovered on the other side of the table while Potter listened to the teacher explain the antidote of Veritaserum. Potions had never been Draco’s favourite class, but it had been his strongest. In fact, he received special tutoring from Snape, and hadn’t been allowed to quit after the O.W.L.s.

“Is this supposed to be blue?” Weasley asked Granger, who sat to his right, and glanced over at Potter to his left. “Why is yours red?”

Potter shrugged.

“It’s supposed to be red,” Draco said and pointed at a pale brown root. “Cut that into small pieces and put it in next.”

He did it, much to Draco’s surprise, and the potion turned a darker shade of red. Next to them, Granger tried to help Weasley salvage his own potion and they huddled close to each other and whispered what sounded like an argument. Draco gave Potter another instruction that turned the potion transparent.

“You follow orders well.” Draco pointed to another ingredient. “Never would have thought that.”

Potter raised his eyes slightly, but pursed his lips tight and didn’t respond. He did as he was told, however, and Draco’s eyes narrowed and he pointed to a red powder. 

Pop! The potion shot straight up into the air and arched back down onto Potter’s head. Red goo ran down his robes and onto the floor. He stood up, as did the rest of the class, and rubbed the potion off his glasses.

“What the bloody hell is your problem?” Potter rounded the table and if Draco wasn’t made of wispy energy, he would have thought Potter might shove him. 

“What? It’s just a little harmless fun.”

“It’s not harmless. It’s anything but harmless!” He glanced at his friend’s concerned faces and took a deep breath. “Professor, I think I need to go change.”

“Uh, yes, Mr. Potter.” The teacher nervously laughed and motioned to the door. “Go on ahead. Take all the time you need.”

“Thank you.” He glared at Draco and shot out the door and didn’t say anything until he reached the Gryffindor common room. He spun around and faced Draco. “Don’t follow me anymore. I’m going to go change.”

Draco continued floating after him and said, “Why are you so mad? You shouldn’t have trusted me so easily. It’s not like I’ve changed.”

“What did I say?”

“Say? Oh, you mean about not following you? You still haven’t got it. I’m Draco Malfoy.”

“Please.”

“No. I always thought I’d haunt you when I died. Might as well take advantage. It was just a prank.”

“It might be just a prank to you, but did you see their faces? Harmless? It’s never harmless. You’re the exact same as the first time I met you. Selfish and arrogant.” Potter pulled off his shirt and threw it into the wastebasket. “And utterly infuriating.”

“Pansy used to say that too.”

“She was right.”

“Do you remember when I made those badges?”

“Badges?” Potter groaned and put his hand over his face, but Draco saw a smile through his fingers. 

“Those were brilliant. I made them myself.”

“Of course.”

“They were harmless too.”

“To you, maybe.”

“The red powder nullifies the harmful ingredient but I told you to put it in too early. It was unstable, but you’re fine.”

Potter pulled some of the red liquid out of his hair and examined it. “I figured it was harmless when the teacher didn’t make a fuss.”

“Red isn’t your color. You should have been in Slytherin instead.”

Potter snorted. “The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, but I refused.”

“You refused? Did you hear some ugly stories about us or something?” Draco moved to follow Potter into the showers, but the door shut in front of him and he hesitated to go through it. “We’re not evil.” No reply. Draco stuck his head through the middle of the door. “The Mud - Merlin. Muggle-borns, they …” He trailed off and watched Potter finish getting undressed.

As a child, Draco admired older students for their soft jaws and height, but looking at Harry, who lacked height but made up in wide shoulders and brawn, Draco found himself curious if ghosts could get aroused. Red stained water pooled around Potter’s feet and ran down his entire body as he rinsed the potion off his skin and Draco couldn’t tear his eyes away. He traced the edge of Potter’s strong jaw with his eyes and noted stubble he hadn’t seen earlier in the day. 

“Muggle-borns what, exactly?”

Draco jerked his head back to the other side of the door. “Uh, they … You wouldn’t understand. You’re one of them.” A dull ache beat in Draco’s chest and he rubbed his silk tie to distract himself from it. He closed his eyes and listened to the water splash around Potter’s feet and breathed slow and deep. “Have you ever tried to understand what it’s like for us? Dealing with them, I mean.”

“No.” A pause. “You haven’t tried to understand what it’s like for the Muggle-borns either, have you?”

Draco shook his head but didn’t verbally answer, because no matter what he wanted, Draco couldn’t deny that he hadn’t. He made a tight fist and tried to push away the disappointment that crept into his mind. Dumbledore, Potter, the entire lot on the winning side were shown as courageous, kind, and understanding. However, this understanding appeared to be reserved for Muggle-borns and their pain and discrimination. Yet, Draco held Potter to a higher standard than he did anyone else. 

“We’re the same, you and I,” Draco whispered. He pushed his sleeve up. The Dark Mark, the ultimate symbol of loyalty to the Dark Lord, was a permanent reminder of the misunderstandings between a parent and child. That day, Draco saw fear in his mother’s eyes for the first time. Draco imagined it as a glorious event, a show of his shared loyalty with his father. Except, the Dark Lord did not care about the pure-blood ideals, and his Mark did not symbolize a fight for their traditions. His dreams became a nightmare in reality. 

The water shut off and Potter opened the door. Water dripped from his hair onto the floor and droplets travelled down his chest to the towel around his waist. Every time he stood next to him like this, although Draco towered over Potter by several inches, he felt small. 

“I’m glad you won,” Draco said. “I didn’t think you would.”

“You’re a coward to the end, Malfoy.”

“Coward? I’m not--”

“But that’s okay.” 

His words left Draco baffled and unable to coherently form a defence against them. It was okay? That’s it? Draco opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and did that several more times until Potter laughed and held out his hand. “What are you doing?” Draco asked. “You’re haven’t really gone crazy, have you?”

“We’ve been enemies long enough, don’t you think?”

Draco hesitated. Potter didn’t offer friendship through his handshake, not the way that Draco had done years ago. He offered a truce. A ceasefire. He wanted to slap Potter’s hand away and tell him he’d never be rid of him, that they would always be enemies. Instead, he stuck his hand out and pretended to grab the other’s hand.

“I need to get back to class,” Potter said. He hurried around Draco and opened an overstuffed drawer full of coloured jumpers, socks and his uniforms. 

“No wonder you always look like a mess,” Draco said, but Potter didn’t pay him any attention as he grabbed a shirt at random and a new robe.

“Meet me in the library tonight. You can do some actual work and go into the Restricted Section to see if there is a book we can use there.” Potter stopped at the door before he left and turned around.

“Can’t you just use that handy cloak of yours?”

“Draco.” He shook his head. “I didn’t realise you were a lazy prat. Just meet me in the library tonight.”

Once Draco was alone, he hopped above Potter’s bed and floated horizontal, like he was laying down. Next to him on his right, the Firebolt was propped up against the chest of drawers. At first he thought it strange that Potter kept it next to his bed and not in the broom shed, but thinking of Potter’s love of flying, he found it strangely normal. More than this broomstick, Draco recalled the jealousy he’d felt when Potter showed up with the Nimbus 2000. He reached out and stuck his finger through the broom. His mother had wanted to buy him a new broom, but his father refused and bought him a book instead. He’d insisted that Draco should study ancient spells, especially Blood Magic, because of it’s significance to the pure-blood community.

That community took a major hit during the war. Blood Magic was designed to work with pure-bloods, but Draco didn’t understand why. 

“I wonder if the Muggle-borns could use it,” he asked aloud. “If it were adapted to them.”

He closed his eyes. His father would turn in his grave if he heard Draco suggest changing any of the ancient spells. The Dark Lord hadn’t seen Blood Magic’s value because they were not immediately powerful. Rather, their strength came in the longevity of the spells. Binding spells, especially, between two people could enhance their natural magic or destroy them if they didn’t match.

Draco glanced at the door and remembered when Potter had stepped through it, naked aside from a red towel around his waist. Just like he could touch his clothes and feel them, he could touch himself and feel his body react. However, since he became a ghost, he’d not got an erection. Perhaps because he’d felt numb. But since seeing and talking to Potter, he felt more alive than he had since he first woke up in the Room of Requirement. 

He unzipped his trousers and slipped his hand inside. He felt his cheeks grow slightly cold when he reminded himself where he floated. Harry Potter’s bed. Draco grinned and pulled himself out and began to slowly stroke himself. He closed his eyes and imagined Potter’s mouth on him instead of his hand.

Except, nothing happened. 

Draco felt himself nearly there, a slight pleasure, but then it became that same pressure that pressed against his eyes and chest, and now against his cock. He imagined Potter more fiercely, determined to overcome the wall that blocked his physical responses.

“Harry,” he said the name out loud to solidify his fantasy. Saying his name felt natural, and when he thought of him next, he thought of Harry’s caress, not Potter’s. “Harry, Harry, Harry.” His voice cracked and he opened his eyes. That pressure pushed against his eyes and chest and he couldn’t stop it. Draco cried out and tried to hit something, anything to help himself relieve the pressure. He hit the pillow. The physical contact surprised him and he jerked away from the bed. Draco stared at the impression in the pillow and he smiled and began to laugh. 

“I hit the pillow,” he said. “The pillow...”

Draco’s smile disappeared. He reached for the Firebolt and his fingers both went through it and nudged it so it touched the wall. Draco zipped his trousers and rearranged his clothes as he floated out of the room. On his way out, he stopped in front of the Fat Lady’s portrait and waited to see if she could see him. She made no indication that she could see him, but when he touched her arm, she scratched it, as if he caused her to itch. 

He continued like this for the rest of the day and touched everything and everyone he came into contact with. His smile came and went with his disbelief, but when he saw Harry eating in the Great Hall, his grin widened and he knocked over the Boy Who Lived’s glass of juice. 

Harry jumped up and glanced at him, but this time kept his mouth shut and used his wand to clean up the mess. Except, it wasn’t his wand. Draco flew forward and stuck his face no more than a few inches away from the wand. 

“That’s my wand.” Draco remembered losing it, but hadn’t realised that Harry had continued to use it after the war. He frowned. “Why are you using my wand?”

Harry didn’t answer him, but motioned to the other students with his eyes.

“What time for the library tonight?” he asked, a hint of anger in his words.

Harry picked up a piece of chicken and, just before he took a bite, said, “Eleven.” He looked up just in time to see Ginny Weasley stop behind him. She looked like she wanted to ask a question, but she made an indignant noise and continued to the other side of the table. 

“She’s trying really hard to stay mad.” Draco scoffed. “Weasley isn’t good at that, is she? They burn quick and fast.”

“Better than you. Rile you up once and you stay narked forever.”

“I don’t.”

Harry sighed. “How long has it been since our first year?”

“Um, what are you talking about, Harry?” Granger touched his shoulder. “Are you sure you’re okay? You keep talking to yourself. Is someone there? Whatever it is, I can help if you tell me.”

How Granger managed to nearly always be on the right track eluded Draco. She even glanced in his direction, though Draco was quite sure she couldn’t see him, and she glared for good measure. She didn’t quit questioning Harry until he escaped her and claimed to need the loo, and even then, when he returned she continued to watch him. For that reason alone, Draco stopped messing with Harry and wandered around Hogwarts, knocking things over and terrorising the first-year Gryffindors. Before the night was over, the first-years in Harry’s house thought a dark force had followed Harry after the war.

“Did you have to do that?” Harry asked that night in the library.

“I was just having a bit of fun.”

“They were terrified. Some of them even think it was me in this cloak!” He shook the invisibility cloak in front of Draco, who nudged it away. 

“They’re all worse cowards than I am. I can barely poke anything let alone do any damage. I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be courageous or something. The good ones. They seem quick to blame everything on you.”

“The war scared a lot of people.”

“So you don’t blame them? I would. I’d tell the whole lot to save their own sorry arses next time some Dark Lord is terrorising the wizarding world. Let’s see how far they get before they run back to you.”

“I’d rather just let them be.”

“Doesn’t it anger you? That they turn on you? After everything?”

Harry paused. The light at the tip of his wand wavered and cast them into darkness for a second before he repeated the spell. “Sometimes. You shouldn’t talk about them. You’re just as bad.”

“I always hated you. And only crazy people reject a Malfoy, so that hasn’t changed either.”

“Arrogant sod.” Harry smiled. “You were rude to my first friend. That’s called loyalty. Not being insane.”

“First friend? You were eleven. That’s pathetic. Did none of the Muggles like you?”

“How many friends did you have before Hogwarts?”

“I had Dobby.”

Harry stopped and anger flashed in his eyes. “Your family treated Dobby like dirt.”

“It’s true. We did. My father especially. There was a time I treated him like a friend. When I was young, he took care of me. But then I grew up and wanted to impress my father.” He cocked his head to the side. “I didn’t care about losing Dobby because I never thought I could. He was property, after all. That’s just the thing though. I lost Dobby to gain my father, but there was never a time that my father didn’t love me.”

“You deserved to lose him. He wouldn’t even talk about your family after I helped free him. He said you threatened his life all the time. He said he was used to it. Who does that?”

“My father, mostly, but I did threaten him a few times. I hit him, too. Forced him to take punishments that were mine. I purposely told him to do things and caught him to make myself look good.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I’m curious. About your relationship with the Weasley girl. When I saw you with her, it was the first time that I realised that you were no better than me.”

“What about my relationship with Ginny? I love her.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“Blood is important to pure-bloods. That’s true. But the Weasley family will always love you.”

Harry blinked and the muscles around his jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth. He didn’t meet Draco’s gaze, and then enveloped himself under the invisibility cloak. Their time in the Restricted Section continued in a heavy silence that weighed between them. Harry wrote a few notes from a book about Apparitions, but he made disgruntled noises that let Draco know he hadn’t found anything useful. 

“Harry, are you here?” 

Harry dropped a book at the sound of the girl Weasley’s voice and glanced at Draco with an almost panicked expression. He frowned and wondered why he seemed more frightened that she would find them than the numerous times he faced the Dark Lord. He took Harry’s frantic pointing and gesturing to mean that he wanted Draco to distract her, so he floated over to her and poked her back. 

She spun around. “Harry, if that’s you, it’s not funny.”

Draco poked her again, this time on her shoulder. Every minute this continued, she got angrier and when Harry revealed himself behind her and poked her himself, she pulled out her wand and put it at his throat.

“What are you doing here?” Harry pushed her wand so it pointed away from him. “I wanted to get some research in --”

“Malfoy is here, isn’t he?” She caught his glance and pointed her wand in Draco’s direction. 

Harry grabbed her wand. “I don’t see anyone. Isn’t Malfoy in a coma? Why would he be here?”

“I know you’re lying. It’s Malfoy. I know it’s him.”

“Ginny -”

“Don’t say my name like that. And don’t lie to me. I’m sure it’s him. Before, you at least tried to talk to me and make things work, then we got here and it’s like I don’t exist.”

“We’re fighting. That doesn’t mean that I’m seeing Malfoy when he isn’t here.”

“Everyone is saying that you lost a bit of yourself in the war. I think that’s true.”

“Are you saying -- I’m not insane. You know that.” Harry lowered his voice towards the end as if he didn’t completely believe himself. He glanced at the door. “Why don’t we go talk about this somewhere else?”

“Why? Because you don’t want Malfoy to hear?”

Two voices, a man and woman they didn’t recognise, and loud, clumsy footsteps stopped at the library entrance. 

One, the girl, spoke first, “Did you hear that?”

“What? I didn’t. No one comes to the library this late at night. We’ll be fine, I promise.”

“Isn’t there anywhere else?” The door opened and they walked inside. The girl was a Ravenclaw, probably in her fifth or sixth year and the boy came from Slytherin house. 

Harry held his finger to his mouth and signalled for the Weasley girl to stay quiet.. The cloak barely covered them as they huddled underneath it as the couple walked past. Draco couldn’t see Harry or Weasley, or hear them, and he grew nervous as they remained hidden even after the two students disappeared between the rows of books. When they did depart, the two burst out from under the cloak and headed for the door quicker than Harry’s Firebolt. 

And Harry held her hand.

A surge of anger flashed through him and he sped up to follow them. Weasley moved with Harry as if she could read his thoughts. She never lagged behind or attempted to go in the opposite direction -- like Draco did on occasion only to curse before he turned around to follow them. He clenched his fists and flew faster until he remembered that they had nothing to run from. Except him.

He stopped after the next turn. Harry didn’t even glance back until they reached the corner. They turned and disappeared. Draco relaxed his hands and dropped them loosely at his sides. Had Harry rejected him again? Somehow, it felt that way, though Draco didn’t recall offering anything. 

Draco bit the inside of his cheek and left for the Room of Requirement. It had been his sanctuary for a short while, before the Golden Trio discovered it and invaded. He insisted that he stopped going because he’d outgrown it, not because he didn’t want to confront them about it. He’d feigned ignorance to its existence because he couldn’t reveal that they had taken yet another thing from him.

At times, he hated them. The wizarding world thought they had the only adventures in Hogwarts and forgot how many other students roamed those halls. Draco perched at the top of a stack of desks and glanced down at the fake Sorting Hat. 

“I really did a piss poor job.”

No one answered him. He wished Goyle and Crabbe would appear through the stacks and greet him. They had a miserable first year because of him and that hat. Slytherins opted for less obvious form of bullying in-house than they did towards the other houses. Crabbe had found the room after a malicious attack on his stash of candy, Draco assumed Harold did it but never found any proof, and he led the others to it.

If Dumbledore knew about the bullying, he didn’t show it, except for a mischievous twinkle in his eyes when he asked if they had found what they needed. Then, Draco remembered saying something about how a Malfoy is never in need of anything. He scoffed and remembered his last day as a person and why the room had appeared to him again.

Goyle and Crabbe had followed close behind him that day. Pansy, too, had run to his side and grabbed his shoulder to stop him. She said, “Why are we going to the room, Draco? Slow down and talk to us.”

“Go back.”

“What are you planning to do?”

He had jerked his arm from her grasp and she’d stepped back, and her astonished expression had made Draco’s stomach queasy. He’d taken a deep breath and shook his head. “Please, Pansy. Just this once. Don’t follow me.”

“You can’t betray us for him.”

He’d turned his back on her without hesitation and ran.

“He won’t ever be your friend! Draco!”

He’d ignored her at that time, because by then he’d convinced himself that his decision was for their own good. If Harry Potter did win, and he helped him, then Draco had a small amount of power to help. If he didn’t win, then Draco could take the fall alone. However, these explanations came on the way to the Room of Requirement, not before.

Draco closed his eyes. A dark, misshapen circle discoloured the stones at the base of the stack he floated over, and the stack swayed back and forth, possibly because of a breeze Draco couldn’t feel. He floated through the desks to the ground and walked out of the centre of the stack. His own blood made that stain. 

_Thud!_

He heard the impact before felt it. Or perhaps he imagined that he heard it, or felt anything at all. He simply saw the diadem and then nothing at all. 

Strange, how things changed so quickly. The four Slytherins had gone on adventures together for seven years. They’d discovered a mysterious pond in the Forbidden Forest during their third year together, and challenged each other to find a hidden library Pansy’s grandfather told her about, but they never found it. Instead, Draco discovered another common room and dormitory in a mostly unused part of Hogwarts. A strange symbol on its walls and an empty portrait guarded it. Diaries that had been charmed shut by Blood Magic, Draco still had them under his bed at the manor, and between them remained the unfulfilled promise of discovery of its contents. All of this happened between stolen glances at a boy that rejected him. 

“We could have found more.” Draco touched the stain. He didn’t know which one hit him. He didn’t care. Draco glanced at the stack of tables. He floated over and touched it. It swayed. He touched it again and again until it rocked.

One table fell from the top. Then another fell to his right. Someone shouted and an arm encircled his waist and pulled him away from the stack. Another table crashed before the stack steadied, and Draco found himself in Harry’s arms.

“Are you mental?”

Draco shook his head against Harry’s shoulder and didn’t look up. He wrapped his arms around Harry and squeezed tight. It took a few minutes, but Harry hugged him close, comforting him.

“What were you doing?”

“I’m a ghost,” Draco said without looking up. “I can’t die again, can I?.”

“You’re brain dead, not dead dead. Do you know if you can die like this?” 

“I’ve been walking through walls without harm for months. A desk falling on top of me is unlikely to do any damage.”

“You don’t know though. Does it make sense to let desks fall on top of you? Now, come on. I know you didn’t want to ask Hermione but I think she might be able to help.”

“Is it because you knew?”

“It? Knew what?”

“That I’d betray you too.”

Harry pushed Draco away so he could see his face. “No? You’re a coward, yeah, but -- Oh.” He paused and rethought his answer, as if he’d only just understood. “We were eleven. Let it go.”

He couldn’t. No matter what happened, Draco refused to let go of the memory. In the beginning, the rejection angered him and he’d genuinely wished Harry harm and went out of his way to make sure the possibility of that shot higher. Later, he resented it. He hated that Harry only noticed the Weasleys, his Muggle friends, the strange Ravenclaw girl and the adults that made up the Order. He despised that the only way he could get Harry’s attention, to get his eyes on him, was to be a pest. Not even a rival or an enemy -- just a pest. 

“You reminded me of Dudley, that’s all. He was an arrogant git too.” Harry smiled. “Luckily, you don’t look like him and you’re smarter.” He paused, like he wanted to say something more but stopped himself and squeezed Draco’s shoulder.

Draco glanced at Harry’s calloused hands and watched his transparent clothing move in response to his touch. He felt warmth from his hand and Draco reached out and touched Harry’s chest. Then, he shoved him so hard he fell to the ground.

“What is your problem? Petty bastard.”

“You touched me.” He held his hands up and examined his palms. “And I touched you.”

“Can others see you now?”

Draco shrugged. He tried to touch a stack next to them, but his hand passed through it and his smile disappeared. Harry came up next to him and Draco slapped Harry’s arm.

“You can only touch me. Why?”

“How the bloody hell should I know? Stop asking questions you know I don’t know the answer to.” Draco touched Harry’s robes, noting that the materials he wore were coarser than the robes he favoured. “Why don’t you buy the higher quality robes? You have gold.”

“I don’t feel the need to waste it.”

Draco smiled and continued to feel the new texture. He touched Harry’s cheek, the stubble around his mouth pricked his fingertips and his smile grew wider. Harry didn’t jerk away or appear uncomfortable, so Draco continued to touch him; the unruly hair on his head, the silk tie around his neck, and then he grabbed Harry’s hand and rubbed the callouses on his fingers. 

“Are these from Quidditch?”

He flushed.“Yeah. I go out and fly often. But not as often since you showed up.”

“Let’s fly. I don’t even need a broom.”

“Isn’t it more important to get you back? Alive, I mean. You can fly when you come back to Hogwarts.”

Draco nodded and didn’t say that he didn’t think he would come back. Nothing waited for him at Hogwarts except Harry, and it was likely that their relationship would revert back to how it was before he died. He held onto Harry’s hands tighter, but if Harry noticed his reluctance to let him go, he didn’t bring attention to it. If anything, Harry squeezed his hands back and did not pull away until Draco did first.

~~~***~~~

After the incident with the desks and touching, Draco found himself in a situation where he had more time to himself than he knew what to do with. Ginny Weasley and Granger seemed determined to attach themselves to Harry at all times out of concern on Granger’s part. Weasley, however, glanced over her shoulder often enough for Draco to assume she hoped deter him from talking to Harry.

She succeeded because Draco had decided that his reaction to the Boy Who Lived required immediate avoidance. Every time he saw him, Draco’s chest grew cold, and he found himself watching his expressions and smiling when Harry received good marks on an exam. The worst came when Harry watched him back. Not just his cheeks and chest, his entire body became frigid. 

Harry’s friends just made it easier.

On his eighth day alone, Draco floated around the lake as if he were ice skating during the winter holidays. Many things had changed since Harry’s arrival less than a month ago, yet Draco remained a ghost.

“My father is dead.” Out loud it sounded absurd. Like a phantom limb, Draco felt that his father could arrive at any moment, and that they could talk and play Quidditch during the holidays like before. He was curious if Harry felt the same way about the friends he lost during the war. 

Sadness crept into Draco’s heart. Not only his father’s death, but everything, from his injury to Harry speaking to him almost like a friend, felt unreal. Harry using his wand, his friends attacking him, and his current state of existence all felt like an elaborate nightmare rather than reality. 

Underneath him, the giant squid swam too deep for him to see, the water as dark and ominous as the future. “None of it feels possible. How is all this real? Was it worth it?” He asked, and this time, he spoke louder and directed his question to his reflection. “Was Harry Bloody Potter worth it?”

“Was I worth what?”

Draco yelped and hopped into the air. He reached into the empty pocket that once held his wand, but cursed when he remembered it was empty. His new companion hovered on his firebolt a short distance away and waved. A grin spread across Harry’s face and he said, “I saw you out here and snuck out the window. I thought Hermione and Ginny kept you away, but they left me alone for quite a while yesterday and you still didn’t appear. What’s wrong?”

“There’s nothing wrong, Potter. I just don’t feel the need to see your face everyday.”

“Oh, it’s back to Potter, then?”

Draco sneered and crossed his arms across his chest. “What I choose to call you is my choice.”

Harry shrugged and pulled a Snitch from his breast pocket. “I suppose I should put this back then and leave you alone.”

“I can’t catch it. What’s the point?”

“We can still chase it.”

“That’s dull.”

“Think so? You wouldn’t win even if you could catch it. That’s what I think...” Harry released the Snitch and let it fly towards Hogwarts for a moment before he flashed a wily grin at Draco and bolted after it. 

If Draco had learned to control his temper like his mother had attempted several times to teach him, he might have stayed by the lake and contemplated his situation further, but he hadn’t, and so he followed Harry towards the Quidditch pitch. Draco attempted to trick him by pretending to see the Snitch and dive in a random direction, but he found that did not work and crossed it off his mental list of possible tricks he had planned to use against Harry during the Quidditch season. 

He frowned. Every so often, Draco glanced at Harry and met his eyes. “Where exactly are you looking? It’s not over here.”

Harry flew towards him and kept his eyes on Draco. He was smiling and Draco saw an emotion in his gaze that reminded him of the adoration he used to see in Pansy’s eyes. He broke their eye contact and looked past Harry at a golden glimmer by the middle hoop. 

Draco shot past Harry, and he laughed at the irony that the first time he saw the Snitch first, he couldn’t even catch it. He heard Harry behind him, but didn’t look back. Even if he couldn’t physically catch it first, Harry would admit defeat; he knew he would. Draco turned to follow the Snitch through the hoop and back around towards Harry. He reached for it. He saw Harry’s larger hand reach out next to his. Draco snatched it. His hand closed around it. The metal cooled his palms and Harry’s hand grabbed his and warmed him.

He grinned, held up their hands up and shouted and laughed as he pulled Harry around in a flip. Harry never let go of his hand. He laughed and congratulated him on his victory. Draco noticed that Harry had stopped laughing and stared at him with a small smile. They stared into each other’s eyes for a few moments, both unwilling to risk saying the wrong thing. Nothing was said, Harry just kissed him.

Heat. Harry’s lips burned in a bittersweet way that warmed Draco to his core. He kissed him back and wrapped his arms around Harry and pulled him close. He wanted more of that warmth. Harry hesitated, then pushed back with equal force and they slowly descended to the ground as they kissed and explored each other. 

Once Harry’s feet touched the ground, they parted, and Draco pulled away. He examined the grass and listened to the breeze rush past his ears. Harry touched his cheek and forced him to meet his eyes.

“I talked to Ginny.” He paused. “She seems to think that I am obsessed with you. So I talked to Hermione about it, but I kept it vague. She tells Ron everything and he might not take this well.”

“This?”

“Yeah, this. Whatever it is. Ginny called it an infatuation.”

“I find it most disturbing that you talked to the Weasley girl about this.”

“Don’t avoid me anymore.”

Draco went silent and tried to physically move his head to look away, but Harry refused to let him. Harry kissed him again, slowly at first, but it grew passionate. They ended up on the ground and Draco straddled him and bent over to keep contact between their lips. For the first time, Draco forgot he was a ghost. He felt Harry’s skin, his clothes his mouth and tongue and the bulge in his trousers. He could even feel the grass and rocks digging into his knees. 

He felt alive and warm. Harry groaned in protest when Draco broke away and said, “If anyone sees you like this on the Quidditch pitch alone, doing this… I don’t want to think of the rumours.”

“Room of Requirement?”

Draco kissed him and agreed. Although the Room remained the same as it had been when the diadem was found, it suited them just fine. Harry pushed Draco onto a pile of carpets next to a pile of books topped with the fake Sorting Hat and crawled on top of him. Draco removed Harry’s shirt and ran his hands down his chest, taking note that he could see Harry’s tan skin through his white, wispy fingers. His hand curled into a fist and he looked down at himself. His clothes and skin, they were not real in this state. 

“What’s wrong?”

Things had changed for Draco since Harry arrived for his eighth year, but not enough. He still wasn’t alive.

“Draco.” He touched his cheek. “Are you okay? Let’s just stop.”

“What for? Don’t want to have sex with a cold body?” Draco spit out the last bit and all but tore the button off Harry’s trousers

“You are warm. You don’t feel cold to me right now.” He unzipped Draco’s trousers with one hand and pushed him so he laid down with his other. Then, he did what Draco had fantasized about for years and took his cock into his mouth.

He reciprocated, but did not go further than that. It unnerved him to think that Harry could see his cock in Draco’s mouth through the white haze of his body. He tried to play it off afterwards by asking what ghosts tasted like. He grinned mischievously when Harry hit his shoulder and turned bright red, but it comforted him that Harry did not mention any disgust. Draco wondered if he hadn’t yet realised he’d had sex with a somewhat dead man, but for whatever reason, Draco did not see the same discomfort in Harry’s eyes. 

On an old red rug that Draco suspected once belonged in the Gryffindor common room, they curled up together and rested. Draco watched Harry sleep and smiled at his occasional sneeze from the dust that surrounded him. If he did manage to get back into his body, Draco hoped he’d remember his time as a ghost.

~~~***~~~

Draco floated through the window closest to Harry’s bed and hovered a few inches over him and touched his cheek. Harry groaned and swatted Draco’s hand away, but Draco would have none of that. He shoved Harry off the bed. Harry yelped and hit the ground hard. Ron shot up in his bed and mumbled before he drifted back to sleep.

“I’m up, I’m up.” Harry grabbed the side of his bed and used it to help himself up. “What bloody time is it?”

“Two in the morning, I believe.”

“Go away.”

“No. It has to be now.”

“Why?”

“It only happens at three every morning. Get your broom.”

Harry put his glasses on crooked and reached for his Firebolt. His eyelids fluttered shut every so often and his movements seemed heavy. Draco fixed his glasses and opened the window. 

“Where are we going?”

“The Forbidden Forest.”

“Why? You’re scared of that place.”

Draco snorted. “I haven’t been afraid of the forest for years. Don’t tell me you’re afraid?”

Harry smiled and shook his head. “Of course you’re not afraid now. You probably can’t be killed by anything in the forest. Hopefully.”

The early morning sky was covered in thick clouds that threatened rain at any moment, but Draco insisted that they continue to the forest. Wind pushed against them, though mostly Harry, who fought to stay on his broom and focussed on following Draco’s lead. Trees merged thickly beneath them and they travelled for more than ten minutes before Draco saw a small clearing.

The wind vanished inside the clearing and only an eerie quiet remained. In the centre, a small pond shimmered in the light from Harry’s wand but it, like the wind, stood perfectly still. 

“What is this place?”

“No idea.” Draco held Harry’s hand and brought him closer. “During Fourth Year I ventured into the forest and got lost. Pansy, Goyle, and Crabbe found me the next day.”

“Why bring me here?”

“It’s special here.” Draco pointed up at clear portion of the sky over the clearing and the clouds that surrounded it. “This place never changes. It’s always the same every time I come. The weather doesn’t matter. It’s clear in this place. It’s like time’s stopped here.”

“And what happens at three?”

“The pond works magic. For Pansy, it showed her when she lost her mother’s locket. Goyle learned where to find some root. Crabbe didn’t see anything.”

“What did it show you?”

Draco shrugged. “The diadem.” The thing about the pond was that it showed him more than just where to find a possibly significant object, but it did not reveal why. In fact, Draco found the revelation so insignificant that he forgot it happened because it hadn’t showed him what he wanted -- a nifty way to make his nemesis’s life miserable. Yet, it had. 

Magic, a part of his life Draco took for granted because it was always present, had become an enigma. He thought he understood it. Magic did his bidding because he had control over it, but small things had chipped away at this belief. Blood Magic, the Mirror of Erised, and this pond, especially this pond, did not always react how he expected. 

“What are you thinking about?”

“Magic.”

“It’s mysterious, isn’t it? I’ve been using it for years but sometimes I worry that I’ll wake up and be under the stairs again.”

“Under the stairs? In a cupboard? That’s ridiculous. No one would let the saviour of the wizarding world live under some creaky stairs.”

“My aunt isn’t a witch. I was no saviour to them.” He rested his head on Draco’s shoulder and looked up at him. “Nor to you, I imagine.”

“If you utter this to anyone I’ll deny it, but when I was young, I had an imaginary friend I called Harry Potter. He was better company than you, I’d say. I grew up on stories about you and my imagination ran wild about what you would do later on. My father didn’t encourage it, but I was fascinated. Harry Potter.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t hate me for being special.”

“Oh, I did. Don’t forget that. I hated you. But I had no doubt that you’d like me best.”

Harry rolled his eyes and then kissed him. “Seems you might’ve been right.”

He wrapped his arms around Harry’s torso and tried to pull him into a hug, but the angle became a problem. Harry grinned and moved so he sat behind Draco. He hugged him tight and rested his chin on Draco’s shoulder. He lightly kissed Draco’s neck and closed his eyes and hummed a happy sound that reminded Draco of a purr. 

“What was that?” Draco turned and tried to face Harry, but he tightened his grip and didn’t let Draco move. 

“What was what?”

“That sound. You’re not a cat.”

“I’m just happy.”

A leaf fell into the pond, but ripples were notably absent. Instead, it sank into the water like a stone. Draco smiled, unwilling to say that he felt the same as Harry, and watched another leaf fall. 

“I thought I knew you,” Harry said. “We don’t know that much, do we?”

“No. We don’t.”

“When you wake up, we’ll learn.”

“If I remember we were friendly at all.”

Harry went silent. Perhaps he had forgotten that possibility, Draco didn’t know, but he sighed a few times too many and Draco readjusted himself so he could see Harry more. Vibrant green eyes stared back at him. His mother told him once that Harry’s eyes resembled Lily Potter’s and that she’d envied her because Draco inherited his father’s grey eyes instead of her blue ones. Draco did not see a reason for the jealousy until he saw how beautiful Harry’s eyes actually were and that his eyes, nor his mother’s, could never match them. 

“What are you thinking now?” Harry leaned forward and rested his forehead against Draco’s and closed his eyes.

“It’s nothing.”

“You’re harder to read than I ever gave you credit for.”

“I’m not even half as hard to read as my father.”

“It’s best that way. I hate secrets.”

He shook his head. “Sometimes it’s nice to have secrets. Sometimes the truth doesn’t matter, and that it happened is enough.”

“Secrets hurt people.”

“Truth can hurt too.”

“Is this about who hit you? Because whoever did it, they deserve to pay for it. They attempted to kill you and they might still succeed.”

“No. No, they didn’t.”

“How can you say that? Someone hit you over the head with a piece of wood and left you there to die. Do you even know who it was?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know they didn’t want to kill you?”

“If a person is fearful for their lives, for their family’s lives, is their reaction a form of self-defence? Don’t pursue this. I beg you. And if I don’t remember and I wake up angry, please don’t let me pursue it. I shouldn’t. I don’t deserve it, and neither do they.”

“Draco … Okay. Fine. I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

Harry grabbed a hold of Draco’s robes and pulled him into a kiss. He pressed their foreheads together again afterwards and closed his eyes, his hand on the back of Draco’s neck to keep him there. Silence accompanied the sounds of their breathing, and Draco followed Harry’s lead and closed his eyes and listened. Calm. From Harry’s steady breaths to his heart, Draco felt his body relax. 

Since he became a ghost, Draco hadn’t slept, because a ghost needn’t sleep, but in Harry’s arms, he drifted off. He didn’t know what happened after that. He didn’t know how he ended up sleeping in Harry’s bed or if he slept there alone or with Harry next to him. When Draco woke, he touched the pillow next to his and felt a familiar object. He wrapped his hand around his wand and sparks flew from it, just like the first time he touched it in Ollivanders He held it close to his chest and laid back.

Ghosts don’t have magic. They do not sleep. They cannot feel warmth. Draco smiled and levitated one of Harry’s jumpers from his drawer. He performed every spell he could think to cast in the Gryffindor dormitory, and then proceeded to float through their common room, wand in hand and changed the colors from red to green. 

Other Gryffindors might assume that it was a Slytherin prank, but Draco felt confident that Harry would know it was him because he knew that while ghosts don’t have magic, Draco was not a ghost. He didn’t know what to call himself in his wispy, transparent form, but a ghost he was not.

~~~***~~~

No amount of pestering could force Harry to tell him what he saw in the pond. Instead, he smiled at Draco and continued whatever task needed to be completed despite Draco’s loud protests. Granger and the Weasley girl appeared to have ended their mission to keep Harry close, and for that, Draco visited Weasley and red marked a grammar mistake he found on her completed essay for Potions.

Draco had taken to sleeping next to Harry every night, mostly because he couldn’t sleep without holding onto him. He held Harry’s hand before they fell asleep and woke to find Harry’s arm around his waist. Four nights had passed since he first slept, and Draco felt invigorated. That is, until the fifth morning. 

Harry sat at the back end of the table so that Draco could hover beside him and chatter while he ate. He never replied because of the other students, but smiled and frowned at the right moments so Draco knew he was listening. 

“Did you see that hat in the Room of Requirement? The weird looking Sorting Hat above those books. I made that hat because --”

His heart skipped a beat and Draco grabbed hold of the front of his shirt. His body grew cold and he felt nothing when he touched his clothes. He struggled to breathe and he trembled. He grabbed Harry’s arm and squeezed it.

“Draco? What’s wrong?”

He didn’t know. He felt like he had suddenly fallen into a frozen lake. His heartbeat slowed and Harry’s voice sounded far away. Draco’s lungs whistled as he breathed and he clung to Harry’s hand. His transparent body disappeared for a split second and he panicked. Draco jumped up and cried out. He knew what was happening, his mother had stopped the treatment. He felt himself dying, not moving on. 

“I -- I don't’ want to die.” He wheezed, but continued in a hoarse voice. “Harry! Don't let me die. Please.” For all his talk of preferring death to life as a ghost, Draco’s heart raced and tears ran down his cheeks. He breathed short, quick breaths and grabbed Harry’s arms. “How do I get back? Harry, please. Tell me. I don’t want to die!”

“Draco, calm down.”

“I’m dying!”

Harry grabbed his cheeks and wiped his tears. It was then that Draco noticed Harry’s hands shook too. He took a deep breath and said, “No. You’re not. Go back. You have your wand. Use your magic. Go.”

He touched Harry’s hand and felt the wetness of his tears on Harry’s thumb. Tears. “Ghosts can’t cry,” he said to convince himself. Draco took out his wand, and at that moment, he saw the eyes of the students of every house on Harry.

“Don’t look at them. Look at me.”

Draco did. His body flickered and he closed his eyes and felt his wand in his hand. He didn’t want to die. He couldn’t die. Not now. He wanted his mother. He wanted to go back to school. He wanted to help secure pure-blood traditions even if it meant he had to adapt them. He wanted to confront his friends. He wanted to be alive, with Harry.

“Are you sure he’s not in any pain?” He recognised his mother’s voice. 

Draco opened his eyes. The light hurt at first and tears slid from his eyes to his ears, but he couldn’t remember why he was crying. His head ached and his throat was parched. He slowly moved his head to the right, where he saw his mother and a Healer. 

“How long…”

“Not long. He’s gone. He won’t feel any pain.”

“M - Mum?” His voice was scratchy and his entire body felt heavy. “Mum?”

She spun around and stared at him, eyes wide and mouth open. His mum, so graceful in his memory, ran to his side and in the process she stumbled into a chair. She took his hand. “Draco?” She broke down and sobbed, then she grabbed hold of him in an embrace that made it hard to breathe, but she didn’t let go. Never before had Draco seen her so discomposed as that moment. She wailed and repeated his name over and over until she suddenly turned on the Healer and pulled her wand on him.

“I want another Healer. Now!”

For a moment, Draco thought she might kill him. He grabbed her sleeve and she immediately hugged him again. She caressed his hair and kissed his cheek and told him how much she loved him.

“What happened?” he asked. 

“You’ve been here … for a while. A little over five months now. You were injured.”

Draco tried to process that information. It didn’t feel like five months had passed and he could scarcely believe it. “The last thing I remember…the diadem. Did Potter get it? Who won?”

“Later. Right now, let the Healers look you over.” She pulled away. “I want to make sure you’re all right.”

“Where’s Father?” 

“Let’s just get you well first, my darling?”

Draco’s stomach turned and he bit his bottom lip. “Did they send him to Azkaban?” 

She shook her head, but did not tell him what happened. Healers arrived and she stepped back to allow them room, but Draco saw relief in her expression. They couldn’t find anything wrong with him and called it a miracle, but his mother called them incompetent. She lashed out at them, telling them that they should find a profession that didn’t require them to make life and death decisions. Draco stayed silent through it all and pondered why he felt different.

“Mum?”

“Yes, dear? What is it?”

“Have you heard from Pansy, Crabbe, or Goyle?” Saying their names reminded Draco that they had been the only ones that knew where he was headed that day. He kept that information to himself mostly because his own reaction confused him. He expected anger and knew that he’d be justified to feel that way. Yet, the idea that one of his best friends put in a coma left him numb. If anything, he felt sad and guilty. 

“Pansy calls often. Crabbe visits with her sometimes.”

“What about Goyle?”

“We can talk about Goyle later. For now, rest. I’ll get you some clothes and then we’ll go home.” She hugged him and kissed his cheek before she left. A moment later, she returned and held onto him like she feared he might fall asleep for another five months.

“I’m fine, Mum.”

“I know. I know you are.” She wiped tears off her cheeks. “I love you. I’m going to go now.”

This time, she hesitated at the door but didn’t look back as she left. Draco fell back into bed and sighed. His mother hadn’t answered his questions about the war, but Draco felt certain that Potter won. He smiled. Of course Potter had won. 

If that were true, then Hogwarts could be back in session. Did Potter return or did he become an Auror, like everyone thought he’d be? Draco dismissed the latter and assumed Potter went back to school to be with the Weasley girl. 

His turned on his side and huffed. He told himself that he didn’t care if Potter threw away his life to become part of the Weasley family. He had no reason to care. 

_Bang!_

Draco yelped and turned to find Harry Potter standing in the doorway. Sweat glistened on his forehead and he breathed heavily, but he smiled when Draco looked at him.

“Potter? What are you doing here?”

“You woke up.”

“What business is it of yours?” Draco swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Did you come here to get your head checked?”

Potter ignored his words and hurried to his side. “I was so scared. You just disappeared and I didn’t know what to do. Do you remember anything?”

“Remember what? I’ve been asleep for five bloody months.” Draco didn’t expect to feel guilty when he saw Potter’s disappointment. He turned his head away. “And I couldn’t just disappear. I’ve been here.”

“So you really don’t remember?”

Draco shook his head. He didn’t want to admit that he felt he was missing a piece of crucial information. “I don’t,” he said.

“Um. Here. You left this behind.” 

The wand Potter offered didn’t surprise Draco. He took his wand back and caressed the familiar edges and texture. He loved that Potter came all the way to St Mungos to give it back, and it pleased him that Potter had used it. 

“Thank you,” Draco said.

“The pond showed me your wand.”

“The pond? Wait, my pond? In the Forbidden Forest? How did you...” Draco stopped short. He could swear that he’d been there as recently as a week ago, but he knew it was impossible. 

“You showed it to me. You were a ghost for the past five months. I was the only one able to see you.”

“I’m not dead. So I couldn’t have been a ghost--” 

Potter pressed his lips against Draco’s to shush him. Draco’s first instinct was to pull away, to punch him and demand answers, but he didn’t. He closed his eyes and kissed him back. It felt too familiar to be the first time they kissed. 

“Harry,” Draco said. “Why doesn’t this feel like the first time we’ve done this?”

“Because it isn’t.” He embraced Draco and buried his face in his shoulder. “Come back to Hogwarts.”

He held his breath and thought for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Harry’s embrace was familiar, he craved his touch, and Draco found himself unwilling to completely decline. He said, “I’ll think it over.”

“That’s enough.” Draco’s mother stood in the doorway holding a set of Draco’s robes in her arms. Her arrival snapped Draco into action, he pushed Harry away and put distance between them. She continued, “What are you doing here, Mr. Potter?

“I talked to Headmistress McGonagall. She doesn’t have a problem with Draco coming back to school.”

“What my son decides to do is none of your concern.” She ushered Harry out of the room and left Draco with his clothes. It didn’t take him long to change, but Harry had left by the time he finished. 

His reaction to his father’s death lacked the emotion his mother expected and it worried her enough to bring her to tears. Then, she told him that Goyle died around the same time that he was injured. 

He excused himself to his bedroom. A picture of his family sat next to his quill on his desk. He watched his younger self copy his father’s regal posture and his mother smiled indulgently. He opened the top drawer and took out a picture of Goyle, Crabbe, and Pansy at the beginning of their fourth year. He closed his eyes and let the tears fall down his cheeks. He didn’t believe his father and Goyle were gone, not entirely. 

His room hadn’t changed since he’d seen it last, the shelves above his desk overflowed with detective novels and the diaries remained under his bed. But Draco had changed. His green sheets reminded him of Harry’s eyes; although he didn’t remember a time that he stared into them, his imagination provided a vivid picture. Somehow, he lost his friends in the process of gaining Harry. 

Draco brought one of the diaries out from under his bed and sat at his desk. Blood Magic and other pure-blood traditions could be saved if they could adapt. He ran his fingers against the seal and sensed the powerful magic warn him against intrusion. The first time he touched the diary, Pansy had scolded him for not taking precautions. He wanted to break the seal. He wanted to find a way to save their traditions. If he did, perhaps they could forgive him.

But he couldn’t do anything without taking the N.E.W.T.s, and in order to take those, he had to go back to Hogwarts. The idea sounded strangely pleasant, especially when he imagined Harry Potter smiling at him. Harry trusted him. In his eyes, Draco saw hope that he could redeem himself and build a future. Draco took the pictures from his desk and packed them into a suitcase. His future waited for him at Hogwarts and he refused to run away from that.


End file.
